


In Seasickness and in Health

by PenguinofProse



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Arranged Marriage, Bridgerton meets the Tudors, F/M, Historical AU, Prince Bellamy, Princess Clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:40:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28632636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: Historical arranged marriage AU. Written for 100 fics for BLM. Prince Bellamy and Princess Clarke are married, whether they like it or not. Will they be able to find happiness together? Angst and fluff with a happy ending.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 60
Kudos: 255
Collections: The t100 Writers for BLM Initiative





	In Seasickness and in Health

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheatreSteph](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheatreSteph/gifts).



> Hello and welcome to my first fic for the 100 fics for BLM initiative! I've just started taking prompts for the initiative this year and I'm super excited about it.
> 
> This fic is an historical AU based around an arranged marriage. It's a bit of a mashup of historical periods and historical fiction tropes, so I make no apologies for the controlled chaos or anachronisms! We're starting out with Princess Clarke on the way to meet her future husband.
> 
> Huge thanks to AJ for betaing this. Happy reading!
> 
> Content note: vomit, implied (but not graphically described) emotionally abusive father/husband, references to miscarriage (but again, no miscarriage happens or is described).

**Here's the link to find out more about the 100 fics for BLM initiative before we get started:<https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/>**

Clarke wonders whether it is possible to die of seasickness.

Wouldn't that make for a sorry tale? Princess Clarke of Polis, dead of seasickness on the way to her cursed marriage. It would serve them all right, she thinks. It would serve Lord Kane right for insisting on this infuriating arrangement. It would serve her mother right for being so besotted with her advisor as to agree with him.

And most of all it would serve Prince Bellamy right for daring to be young and eligible and politically suitable.

She sighs, swallows down another wave of nausea. She knows this marriage is objectively a good idea. Polis and Arkadia are near neighbours, linked by similar religious and political agendas even if their attitudes and lifestyles differ markedly. She suspects that Lord Kane's mother has had more to do with the arrangements than anyone is letting on – she cannot see why else it should suddenly have been decided that the heirs to the thrones of the last two kingdoms revering the One Tree should be married. And Lord Kane himself spent some years as ambassador to Arkadia and insists this is the best course of action.

She always knew something like this would happen, of course. She's a princess – obviously she was going to be shipped overseas to marry a prince. She just wishes it could have been literally any other prince than this one. He is legendary for his scorn towards marriage, and his father the king is positively infamous for his ill-treatment of brides. The man managed to get through six wives in two decades as if they were cheap tallow candles, and Clarke gets the distressing impression that such attitudes could easily run in the family.

There's nothing to be done about it now, of course.

All she can do in this moment is vomit, it seems.

…...

Clarke tries to gather her dignity, when her party lands on the Arkadian coast. She suspects she looks like she has been throwing up for several days – that's because she has. But she makes a game attempt to put up her hair and shake out her dress.

She needn't have bothered, it turns out. The welcome party is a few leering villagers and several dozen sheep. This really is a most disagreeable country.

"Will His Royal Highness the Prince not be joining us?" She asks carefully, of a burly man who introduces himself as the mayor.

"I'd say he might." The mayor says, laughing merrily to himself. "The royal family like a good jest, your Highness. Did you ever hear the tale of his Highness's father, King Arthur, surprising Queen Callie at the TonDC inn?"

"Yes. Quite the tale." Clarke agrees, as calmly as she can manage. Queen Callie was dead on the scaffold within the year, if memory serves.

"So I'd say your Prince might well surprise you with a masquerade or some other fun, your Highness. That would be a right royal thing to do."

Clarke nods, lips pursed. She does not consider masquerades a _right royal thing to do_ , as it happens. Back in Polis, the royal family like to surprise their subjects with gifts of grain or beneficial land reforms, not jests.

If there's one thing she doesn't expect from this arranged marriage, in short, it is fun.

…...

Thankfully it seems Prince Bellamy doesn't believe in fun, either. Praise God for small mercies, Clarke thinks, sarcastically and with her faith fast-dwindling. At least that's one thing they have in common, she decides – their shared determination to be utterly and resoundingly miserable in marriage. At this rate, she thinks, maybe they will find enough common ground to rub along together well enough.

He simply presents himself at the TonDC inn while Clarke's party is passing through, alone and utterly unmasked.

"Your Highness. A pleasure to make your acquaintance." He says, in a tone that makes it quite clear he takes no pleasure in meeting her at all.

"I see you are as enthusiastic about this marriage as I am." She gets straight to the point, rather than wasting time on empty formalities.

He looks a little taken aback. "Yes. It would rather seem so."

"Then why, pray tell, are we both in this dismal inn?" She asks, peering about her.

That startles a laugh from him, incredibly. Well, then. Maybe very occasional jests might be on the cards after all. "It's not such a terrible inn, Princess. At least the bed bugs are well-fed."

"I hardly think that a recommendation."

He's no longer laughing, now. But he is smiling, and that is somehow even more unexpected. "We're here because this is what princes and princesses do, is it not? We marry strangers for political gain. Don't let it concern you – I intend to let you sail back to Polis and live apart the moment my father passes on."

"That sounds most sensible. Thank you for putting my mind at rest." She can scarce believe her luck, really. A distant marriage is just about the best kind of arranged marriage, she's certain of it. She didn't realise she was about to get this lucky.

"You're so very welcome, Princess. Do you think we have talked here long enough to satisfy the gossips?"

"Quite long enough. Please feel free to ride back to Arkadia City." She tells him smoothly.

He doesn't wait to be asked twice.

…...

She revises her earlier opinion, after three days in Arkadia City. There is nothing lucky about her situation at all.

She knew that Arkadia would be less liberal than Polis. She knew she would face different attitudes towards women, towards relationships, towards life.

But she didn't realise it would be this bad.

And on top of that, of course, there's her future husband. Honestly, it's a good thing that he's decided they are to live apart, because she can't imagine they would survive trying to live together. They rub each other up the wrong way without fail, bickering and arguing when they're supposed to be sitting tight and enjoying the festivities and preparing for their wedding.

The worst thing of all? The frankly impertinent way he calls her _Princess_.

They're sitting side by side at a banquet today. That's been a fairly common occurrence, so far this week. Clarke can only hope that once she and Prince Bellamy are actually married they will spend less time at these interminable meals.

"Can I offer you some more of this ragout, Princess?" He asks now.

"No, thank you." She's sick to death of all this rich food. She can't remember the last time she ate a dish without meat in it.

"Or a slice of roast swan instead, Princess?"

"Why do you call me that?" She snaps at him, at last. She suspects that's what he was aiming for, actually. She's beginning to think he might enjoy teasing her a little too much.

"It's what you are, isn't it? A Princess?"

"But it's not my title."

"Come now, Princess. We are to be married." He reminds her, brow cocked. "Don't you think a friendly nickname is fair game? I won't object if you start calling me Prince in turn."

"I shan't be calling you that." She says, utterly dismissive.

"No?"

"No. Because I think you already fancy yourself King – although your father still lives. And because I think you fancy yourself something of a rebel, too. I believe Prince is the last word I should use to describe you."

He only smirks.

"What? No sharp retort this time, _Your Highness_?" She asks him pointedly.

"Retort? I should think not. Poor form to argue with my betrothed at the dinner table. Can I offer you some venison, Princess?"

She laughs and lets him have it. She may be marrying an arrogant stranger in a foreign land. But at least, it seems, they will keep one another on their toes.

…...

The wedding ceremony is a wedding ceremony like any other, Clarke supposes. It's not as if she's been married a thousand times before. No – that's more the kind of thing that runs in her husband's side of the family.

Once the vows have been said, there's another one of those excessive meals to sit through. And then there's dancing – or at least, there are other people dancing. Clarke sits and waits for her husband to claim her hand, but he shows no sign of doing any such thing.

It's an odd situation she finds herself in, really. All her life she's been raised for marriage and childbearing like some prize mare. And she never planned to like her husband much, especially when she realised Prince Bellamy was her intended. But she always planned to do the job properly. She planned to grace public occasions with dancing, to bear a brood of children, to make polite conversation with him at the dinner table. She's always taken pride in a task well done, and it seems that these are the only tasks she is to be allowed to attempt, if she is to be an Arkadian wife.

Occasionally she allows herself to wonder what it would have been like, if she had somehow managed to marry a local noble and stayed in Polis. She'd have had real influence on politics, a modicum of independence. She'd have been able to use her considerable intellect for good causes, rather than only to spar with her husband at the dinner table.

But that is not the destiny fate has handed her. So it seems she shall just have to be the greatest broodmare in the land.

That's a conclusion that lasts until the bedroom door is locked behind them.

Clarke supposes she knows what will happen now. She's no blushing virgin – she's been with a handful of men and women before now, although she has chosen not to advertise that to the rather more conservative Arkadians.

So needless to say, she's a little surprised when Bellamy starts out by pricking his finger and rubbing a bloodstain into the sheets.

"I'm sure you're doing that for a perfectly good reason?" She prompts him, making it quite clear in her tone that, in fact, she thinks he may have lost his mind.

"We need them to think we consummated the marriage." He says, shrugging.

She sighs. There are so many things wrong with that statement she's not even sure where to start.

"Do women typically bleed when you bed them?" She asks, in some alarm. "I believe you must be doing something wrong if that is the case."

He frowns, looks at her sharply. "No. I know what I'm doing, thank you very much."

"Naturally. That explains why you're dripping blood on our bedsheets." She says because, of course, it does not. "Maid or not, no woman should be bleeding like that."

"They just want a good show." Bellamy defends himself through gritted teeth.

"Quite. Let us move to my next question – why this charade? Do you not intend to consummate this marriage?"

"No."

She waits for the rest of the sentence. It never comes.

"Your Highness. Bellamy. I don't -"

"We shall not be consummating this marriage, and that's all I have to say on the matter."

She bristles. "It may well be all you _wish_ to say on the matter. But I have some further questions to ask and I'll thank you for answering them. What on Earth is going on? This is a marriage, is it not? We are to have children, presumably?"

"No."

Again, she waits in vain. It's interesting, she muses. He's proven himself rather adept at arguing with her so far, so she thinks his silence on this front speaks volumes.

"Your Highness. I am your wife, whether you like it or not, and you will tell me what is the meaning of all this." She bites out, firm.

For a moment, she thinks she has pushed too far. She honestly thinks he will rant and rave and remind her he is the man in this marriage – that seems to be a thing people care about, in Arkadia.

But in the end, he does not do that. He simply clasps his hands at his hips and starts explaining himself in a hurried rush of words. It occurs to her that he's likely to spread blood onto his fine clothes, but she supposes this is not the moment to worry about such things.

"I despise marriage." He tells her, which is hardly a promising beginning. "I have despised the concept for as long as I can remember. I have no interest in becoming my father, with his endless string of wives. I did not wish to marry you – so much you already knew. But perhaps you did not know how hard I pushed back against it."

"There is a difference, Your Highness, between wishing to remain single and refusing to abide by the terms of a marriage made in good faith."

"Good faith?" He asks, on a snort. "You do not want to be here any more than I do, Princess. So I repeat – we will keep up this charade until our parents die and then we will each go to rule our kingdoms."

She nods. She seems to remember that going back to a life of freedom in Polis was what she was dreaming of, only a few short minutes ago. But when he phrases it like that, it sounds like failure. And she has always despised failure.

It's perhaps the only thing she hates even more than marriage to this infuriating man.

"And what of children?" She asks pointedly. "Why not consummate the marriage? Do you not wish for heirs?"

"Wishing for heirs is what turned my father into the man he is – what killed my mother – and I want no part in it." He says, utterly dismissive.

"And if I want something different?" She asks, challenging. The women of Arkadia may not argue with their husbands but she is a Princess of Polis, through and through.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I want children." She says simply. "What else is there for a wife of yours to do all day, Bellamy, if not to bear and raise children? Princesses and queens in this land have no part in politics that I can see. They have no education to speak of, no pastimes beyond needlework. I am not at all bad at sewing a man's guts back together, but embroidery is not my area of expertise."

"Sewing a man's guts back together?" He asks, shock apparently breaking through his displeasure.

"Yes. I have some small training as a surgeon. It's not so unusual in Polis for a woman to be educated in physiology or the natural sciences."

The prince simply gapes at her, eyes even wider than his mouth. Well, now. This is certainly not how she expected her wedding night to pan out. How is it that they always seem to end up here, she wonders? How is it that everything seems to devolve into a blazing row?

And is it really so unthinkable that she could be a competent surgeon? Does she appear to lack intelligence?

Maybe that's what makes her press on. "Women of all backgrounds have such interests in Polis. I knew when I came here that I would have to give up my interest in healing – I hear that such women are drowned as witches, in Arkadia. But in Polis we celebrate the abilities of wise women. My friend Raven is such a one."

Bellamy coughs, hands still gripped at his hips. "And this is why you wish to have children? Because you cannot practise medicine? Forgive me, Princess, but that seems an odd leap of logic." He says in a tone that makes it quite clear he expects no forgiveness at all – rather that he is proud to think he might have outsmarted her.

"It is not so simple as that. It is not that children _replace_ my interests. It is that a woman must have _something_ in her life, Bellamy. Something to do all day that is fulfilling and meaningful and worthwhile."

Silence falls. The prince frowns harder than ever. Clarke rather wonders why she bothered having this argument at all, now. She cannot help but feel that she is too stubborn for her own good, sometimes. Would it not have gone easier for both of them if she just accepted that stupid bloodstain and helped him sneak out the back stairs to go meet with some lover more to his liking? She's heard the rumours – she knows he has had lovers aplenty, before now.

"Hearing petitions." He says at last. Just two small, strange words.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Hearing petitions. That's what a queen or princess is to do in Arkadia. The Queen doesn't do it often since she spends so much time nursing my father, and my sister hasn't the patience for it. But that is the proper duty for you. You sit in your presence chamber and invite people to come and present their difficulties to you. Just the things that fall within your sphere, naturally – destitute girls of good family, schools for orphans, women in want of a place at court, and the like."

"I sit there and listen to people's problems?" She asks, incredulous. That is to be her daily occupation for the rest of her life?

"You _solve_ their problems." Bellamy clarifies.

Ah. Well. That sounds more up her street.

"I'll start in the morning." She announces at once.

He laughs. She doesn't like it when he laughs at her.

"I beg your pardon?" She prompts him.

He is not shamefaced in the slightest. "You will find it difficult to start tomorrow. There are plans to be made, Princess. You must choose your remaining staff and have your presence chamber prepared and give notice to the townspeople that you will be receiving petitioners."

She grits her teeth. She cannot believe, in this moment, that her mother sent her here so unprepared. What use is it to be able to cauterise a wound or write up a treaty when she is expected to decorate a presence chamber and listen to the complaints of strangers?

"Very well. Thank you for your guidance on this, Your Highness."

Bellamy nods sharply. "You know, you really must start calling me something else, Princess. We're married now. If not _Prince_ to match me, at least Bellamy."

Hmm. Last time she checked, she has already called him Bellamy more than once in the heat of an argument. But she supposes that perhaps this is supposed to be a peace gesture. An indication that he does not intend to completely disregard their marriage, perhaps.

No – he just intends it to be childless and distant and exist in little but name.

It is with a heavy heart that Clarke goes to bed that night, carefully on the opposite side of the mattress from her new husband. She came into this marriage reluctantly, yes, but at least expecting to secure a useful alliance for her homeland and have a brood of children.

Six hours in, all she has is a cold bed and the promise of petitioners. She wonders if this could be going any worse.

…...

She gets to work the very next morning, of course. That is simply her way. And before the week is out she has dozens of petitioners a day flooding her presence chamber.

Bellamy never says anything about it. Neither do the King or Queen. Princess Octavia, Bellamy's younger sister, stirs herself at one point to say that Clarke is doing good work.

Honestly, it's the kindest thing anyone has said to her since she left Polis.

She thinks maybe that's why she's working so hard at this. It's partly because she wants to help people for its own sake, of course. But she thinks there's something else at play here, too. All her life she's been a success – a solver of problems, a leader of people. So it's been tough to come to this new land where she is totally out of her depth and constantly fears failure. And pathetic though it is, she'd give anything right now for her husband to give just a word of praise, just the slightest acknowledgement that he's noticed her competence and compassion.

Either he hasn't noticed either of those things, or he's an even more disagreeable prince than she first gave him credit for.

…...

Clarke isn't sure when the petitioners start getting more serious. It happens so gradually that she hardly notices it. To begin with, she seems to remember, she only dealt with young noblewomen looking for places as ladies in waiting. And then she seems to remember there were some penniless widows, the occasional unemployed woman of the working classes.

Today there is something a little different.

"Miss Maya Vie." The herald announces.

Clarke nods, gestures for her to be admitted.

"Your Royal Highness. I come seeking your assistance with a problem, for I have heard great things of your compassion." This Maya Vie begins.

Clarke knows that's only a formulaic greeting – she hears something similar from most petitioners, in fact. Maybe that's why she likes doing this so much, because it's the only source of affirmation in her life, right now. Even a confident future queen needs to be told they're doing the right thing once in a while.

"Please tell me your troubles."

"They are not strictly _my_ troubles." Maya begins, in a hurried rush, her eyes on the floor. "They are the troubles of my home town. Mount Weather is a small village in the northern province of Arkadia. The Wallace family own a mill there, and they are taking advantage of the poverty and desperation of the local people. They have people work long hours for little pay in terrible conditions, giving their sweat and blood to make the Wallace family rich. Many truly give their blood – five have been killed in accidents at the mill this last month alone. And there are children there, Your Highness. Families cannot afford to eat unless all their children work there."

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Miss Vie." Clarke is horrified, but feeling rather calmly confident of her ability to solve this problem. "I should think we will be able to improve the situation. Let me write to the owner of the mill with a little friendly advice from his future queen. A Mr Wallace, you said?"

"Yes. Mr Dante Wallace. His son Cage is the worst, your Highness. He strikes the children if he thinks they are not working hard enough."

"Very well. I shall write to them both and advise them that the royal family do not look kindly upon such behaviour. And we must keep in touch, you and I, Miss Vie. It must have taken considerable bravery on your part to bring this to my attention. I shall want the company and advice of such women when I am Queen."

Miss Vie bobs a small curtsy. "Thank you, Your Highness. Of course, Your Highness."

It's an impulse that makes Clarke say it, and she's not usually an impulsive woman. But really, she hasn't made one single friend since she arrived here in Arkadia and she's finding life rather lonely.

"Please, if we are to be friends you must call me Clarke."

"Of course, Your – Clarke. And you must call me Maya. Should I – shall I leave an address so we can keep each other informed on the matter of the Mount Weather mill?"

"Yes. I think that would be for the best."

…...

Clarke writes to the Wallace family, then sits back to wait.

She receives two very interesting letters, the following week. One is from the Wallaces, thanking her in terms too warm to be truly genuine for her kind guidance. The mill owners are honoured to receive the notice of royalty, apparently.

Chastened and a little frightened, more likely.

The other letter is from Maya. There have been sudden increases in pay, she notes, and the children are to be schooled rather than put to work. There are promises, too, of improvements to safety and conditions.

Clarke writes back to Maya with a smile, because that's how friendship works.

…...

Clarke doesn't see Bellamy much, as they settle into married life.

They keep separate bed chambers, pursue separate tasks. They rarely eat together on an everyday basis – they simply have food served to them and their own households in their rooms. Clarke doesn't mind so very much, because of course her husband is a disagreeable man.

But she's lonely. The women of her household are meek Arkadian women, not inclined to speak up. Some of them are even former mistresses of her husband, she understands, such as Lady Martin. She works very hard at not holding that against the lady in question – Clarke herself grew up in a society quite liberal about sex before marriage, and she knows she has no right to be jealous over a husband she doesn't even like.

Somehow she is jealous, though. If she is to have no friends in this new land, she could at least have a husband who would rather sleep with her than with her own lady in waiting.

Maybe that's why she finally insists on dancing with him, the next time they are forced to interact by a public occasion. Maybe she's trying to prove that she can beat these Arkadian women – if not at their _own_ game, then at least at a game of her choosing. Or maybe it's because she's riding high off a wave of confidence from resolving the Mount Weather problem and making one genuine friend.

Or maybe she's just incredibly lonely.

Whatever the reason, she is determined that she will dance with Bellamy tonight, when the musicians start playing after supper.

"Dance with me." She says to him simply, while he is chewing on the last of his meal.

He frowns at her, a rather incredulous slant to his brows. "I beg your pardon?"

"Dance with me. I know you do not care for this marriage but if I am to have the respect of my household and future subjects, they must see that I have all the proper accomplishments."

He frowns at her harder. "You have a cunning way of phrasing an argument, Princess."

"I shall take that as a compliment."

"It was not intended as one."

"Regardless, that is how I choose to proceed." Clarke informs him smartly. "Now you have finished chewing, we will dance."

With that, she stands up. She stands up very deliberately, because she knows she has him, now. He may rant and rave all he likes, but as long as she makes it look like she believes he has invited her to dance, he cannot stay seated without appearing rude, as if he has gone back on his word and stood her up.

It will not occur to these Arkadians, of course, that she might be the one taking the lead on this.

Bellamy is a good dancer, it turns out. Clarke is hardly surprised – he's a well-educated man, and considered attractive at court. Naturally he can dance.

 _Considered attractive_? Who is she kidding? He's beautiful, and she'd admit that more often if he was any less disagreeable.

She takes advantage of the time they are dancing together. He cannot flee while they are dancing without appearing unbearably rude, so she knows she has him cornered for a most important conversation. She has been considering his determination not to consummate the marriage and believes she has a couple of points to make.

She has no interest in subtlety, as a general rule. So she gets straight to it.

"I have an observation to make, Bellamy. You do not want children."

"As we have discussed." He says, in what she supposes is meant to be a quelling tone.

She doesn't let that stop her. "Indeed. Therefore, by my logic, there is no harm in us _trying_ for children. You do not want them, so we have nothing to lose. If I do not fall pregnant, it is no disadvantage to you who never wanted children anyway. And if by chance I do – well, then. I get what I want. We make a show of celebrating at court but you never have to see the child again. In summary, the way I see it, there is no harm in attempting it. You can't ever turn into your father if you don't _want_ children. Isn't it the desperate want for children that turned him into the man you do not wish to grow into yourself?"

Bellamy is silent for a long time. That's about as Clarke expected, really. She's just thrown a lot of words at him, while he's essentially trapped with her, and she supposes it will take him a while to decide how to respond.

"Damn you and your logic." He says in the end, in a carefully light tone. "This is why we don't educate our wives in Arkadia. We'd have them thinking like that all the time."

"If that is a jest, I do not find it to be a terribly funny one." She informs him smartly.

He sighs. "No. Of course you don't. Forgive me." He takes a deep breath. "Your argument is sound. But I suppose my feelings on the matter of marriage and childbearing and family are not built out of sound arguments. They come straight from the heart, and from experiences I have lived or seen that I am not ready to speak of yet."

She nods. "I can understand that. But fleeing from the issue will not solve it. Perhaps having a happy family of your own will slay some of your demons?" He may choose not to speak of his feelings about family life, but she thinks it does not take a genius to work out a good deal of it. The affairs of the royal family are more or less public knowledge, after all. She thinks a dead mother and bevy of dead stepmothers, as well as a tyrannical father, is probably at least half the story.

He nods, stiffly, jaw tight. "You may perhaps be right. I will think on your words. Perhaps in time I will see it your way. But I must now beg you to change the subject."

She doesn't make him ask twice. She can see from the heaviness in his gaze that this has been a truly trying topic for him. So it is that she asks him an innocent question about hunting and makes light conversation for a while about the health of his horses.

When the dance is over, they walk back to their seats. Clarke supposes that is her small dose of fun for the evening over, now – one difficult conversation and awkward dance with her husband, and now she is to sit down for the rest of the night, presumably.

That's not quite how it turns out at all.

"I shall let it be known to my friends that you are available for dancing. Mr Miller is a gentleman of the privy chamber and a lifelong companion of mine, and I see him sitting idle on the other side of the floor. Let me drop him a hint that he's permitted to ask my Princess." Bellamy suggests, tone teasing.

"I'd like that, Bellamy." She says simply. "Thank you. I'm fond of dancing, and I have made few friends since arriving here."

Bellamy frowns. "Miller is a good place to start, then."

He raises a hand and presses a quick kiss to her knuckles. She is still blinking in shock as he strides away across the room. That's pathetic on her part, perhaps. But in her defence it's the first time her husband has ever really shown so much as passing consideration for her entertainment.

Oh, and it's the first time he's kissed her at all. There's that, too.

…...

It's a little over a week later that Bellamy shows up at Clarke's bedchamber one evening. He's alone, and he dismisses her ladies in waiting and her servants right away.

She's shocked, and she doesn't mind admitting it. Informal evening visits are not a feature of their marriage. Dare she hope that this means what she wants it to mean?

"Bellamy? Why are you here?" She asks simply.

"Can a Prince not simply pay a visit to his Princess?" He asks, tone teasing.

"He can. But in my experience, he chooses not to." She points out.

He grins at her slightly. "Honestly? It's been some time since I have lain with a woman, and I was feeling the urge, and I thought I might do us both a favour and see if I can get you with child."

"I am honoured, your Highness, that you're _doing me a favour_ rather than going out on the town to find yourself some company." She responds, laughing lightly.

"Now now, Princess. Less of that fire. Who knows – you might even enjoy this."

Yes. She rather suspects it won't be terrible, actually. She gathers he's reasonably experienced in this area.

She's not sure how much to play the blushing virgin. She has chosen not to make a display of her sexual history since coming to Arkadia, because she knows that is not the done thing in these parts. But it feels like something of a lie to pretend to be what she is not. Maybe there's a middle ground, she wonders – maybe she can be her confident self but not make a point of showing Bellamy how experienced she really is.

"Have a seat and let me play lady's maid." He bids her, pointing to the chair before her mirror.

She sits, frowning slightly. She has to admit that this is not what she was expecting.

He begins to take the pins from her hair, and as he does so, he talks quietly. "I have been thinking about what you said. You're right – my abhorrence of fatherhood is not founded in logic. As long as I do not find myself obsessed with the succession all will be well. So if it is agreeable to you, I should like to visit your chambers some nights. We shall see what happens – I am not promising you a brood of babies."

"Neither am I." She says in turn. "I have some knowledge in the field of medicine, remember? I know that fertility is not guaranteed to anyone."

"Then we understand one another, and we shall make the best of it." He concludes smoothly, still working at her hair. "And I should say that bedding you will hardly be a chore." He offers, brows raised and lips pressed into a provocative grin.

She smiles back at him. She fears that might look a little pathetic, but she cannot help it. That's the first compliment he's ever paid her, she's pretty sure. Lonely and unappreciated as she has been feeling, hearing that it will not be a chore to bed her has made her week.

That's unspeakably sad, isn't it?

She could swear she used to have a higher opinion of herself, back home in Polis. She wouldn't have got so stupidly excited over such a reluctant compliment. But as it is, here and now, she supposes that this is about as good as life gets for a wife in Arkadia. Petitions and visits from her husband and not being a chore in the bedchamber.

"Why must your hair be so complicated to take down?" Bellamy asks, light, breaking the silence.

She laughs a little. "You haven't tried unlacing the corset yet."

He laughs in turn. She's glad of that. It was a weak attempt at humour, and she knows he must have unlaced other corsets before now. But she thinks that for two people who barely know each other and like each other still less, they're going to do fine in bed together.

She hopes.

Bellamy has finished with her hair pins, now, and in the mirror she watches in fascination as he brushes her blonde hair out over her shoulders with his fingers. He starts work on unlacing her gown, next, urging her to stand up with gentle hands on her arms. And then it's onto her undergarments and, sure enough, the corset appears to pose no problem to him.

It's odd. He hasn't so much as kissed her yet. But still this feels gentle and intimate, and she finds herself enjoying it more than she expected to.

He takes off his own clothes, and she doesn't offer to help. Why would she? Princesses of Arkadia are not supposed to take the initiative in stripping their husbands. She is quite certain of that. So it is that she simply stands there, until he is naked, and she is naked, and they are both looking at each other intently.

She must admit, she is not exactly looking at his face.

When he starts kissing her, she's a little surprised. It's such a gentle, almost tentative kiss, and that's not at all what she would have expected from this rather argumentative man. But it's pleasant, and somewhat comforting to a young woman so far from home, so she relaxes into it and kisses him back in kind.

It's not long before he starts urging her back to the bed with his hands curled around her shoulders and his lips against her neck and his cock pressing hard into her stomach.

Really, she wonders why they didn't try this weeks ago, when they first married. Even if this is not the most passionate sexual encounter of her life, he at least feels much more human when they're touching like this, skin against skin. She lies down on the bed willingly – almost enthusiastically – and peers up at him expectantly.

"Don't worry. I'll take good care of you." He murmurs, brushing a gentle hand down her shin and treating her to a half-smile.

She wasn't worried, actually. Nothing that's going on here is new or mysterious to her. But she nods, gives half a smile back in return. They're doing better at civility, in this moment, and she wonders whether it might last beyond the bedroom if they really put some effort in.

He starts with his mouth, and he certainly knows what he's doing. He's going everything right and without coming on too strong, coaxing her along and getting her wet and ready. He leaves a heavy arm slung over her hips, too, and she likes that more than she expected to. She's not usually one for being held down but here and now, it provides some much-needed human contact.

He pulls back after a couple of minutes and grins up at her, lips glistening. Again, this is actually pretty hot, considering how poorly they get on by day.

"You ready to give this a try?" He asks, smiling gently.

She resists the urge to roll her eyes at that. Attitudes in the bedroom are a little different in Polis – getting a penis in a vagina is not the be all and end all. But she's in Arkadia, now, of course, so she simply nods like a good, obedient wife.

He doesn't waste time. He scoots up the bed, hovers over her. And then there's more kissing, and the taste of her on his lips, and that's something she always finds pretty hot. So she allows herself to kiss him back a little more hungrily, a little more eagerly.

He likes that. She can tell by the low growl, the way he starts kissing her deeper, more urgently. And then he's slipping his cock in place, too, and if he notices that she's pretty relaxed and takes it very easily he must credit that to his oral rather than her experience.

At least, she hopes that's the case.

Or maybe it doesn't matter, she wonders, as she kisses him harder still. Maybe he's fine with her knowing what she's doing in bed, as long as she doesn't go flaunting it to the whole of the Arkadian nobility. He doesn't seem to be making a fuss or getting suspicious, here, so maybe she can allow herself to relax slightly more.

With that in mind, she starts helping him out a little – just in small, subtle ways. Things like her palms on his butt cheeks and her hips bucking up towards him, and really getting her tongue involved in the kiss. He seems to like it when she's slightly more engaged like this, groaning loudly and often.

At this rate, she dares to hope, he might even pay her a compliment before this is through.

"Yes." He pulls away from the kiss to gasp the word. "Yes, Princess. Ahhh."

That sends her spiralling closer to the edge. That was almost a word of praise, there, almost some affirmation that he doesn't think she's a total failure as a wife. She nuzzles deeper into his neck, sucks lightly on his collarbone in the hopes of drawing out some more encouraging noises.

"Yeah. There. Ah. Yea-"

He comes first, cutting short his words on a long, loud sigh. And she sort of follows him as if on instinct – it's an orgasm, more or less, but hardly the most thrilling one she has ever known. Just her body recognising that sex is done now, rather than her heart truly getting overexcited.

It's the disappointment, she realises, that makes it so mediocre. It's the underwhelming knowledge that even in the heat of a moment like that, he has nothing nice to say about her. Ah well. That's what an arranged marriage is like, she supposes.

At least she might get pregnant at this rate. At least there's that.

…...

Things get better, perhaps. Or at least things do not get worse.

She exchanges letters with Maya. Occasionally she sends one home to her mother or Raven or Wells, too, but of course replies take longer to come across the sea. She dances with a few of her husband's friends at social events – Mr Miller more often than anyone, or sometimes Lord Santiago who is married to one of her ladies in waiting. And Bellamy visits her three nights a week, which is frankly at least three times as often as she ever expected him to wish to bed her.

She can cope with this. If this is as fulfilling as her life in Arkadia ever gets, she supposes she will survive.

She'd like to do more than survive, of course. She'd like to _live_. She'd like to feel the wind in her hair whilst running, unladylike, around the palace grounds. She'd like to have solved more than one genuinely meaningful problem this year, and she'd like a husband who wants to talk with her, rather than only sleep with her.

She's not going to get any of those things any time soon, though. So here she is looking out at her future – bleak, but bearable.

…...

Her heart leaps when Bellamy visits her in the middle of the afternoon one day. Of course it does. Somehow, that optimistic – or perhaps naive – part of her is still clinging on. So she hopes that perhaps he is here for conversation and company, rather than only to conceive a child. She even dares to dream, just for a second, that perhaps he has some words of encouragement or acknowledgement for her efforts and good works.

"Bellamy. I wasn't expecting you."

"No." He agrees, and his face is too carefully neutral for her to read whether this is a good thing or not. "I had to come at once when I heard about what you did regarding Mount Weather mill."

She's half-smiling already. This is it. This is the moment that he acknowledges she has some expertise in negotiating with people, solving problems, running a country. This is when he will offer her some meaningful political role and -

"I am most unhappy with the way you handled that, Princess. You forget yourself if you take on such issues. It is not your place to interfere with men's business. The Wallace family are generous friends of the crown and are most displeased at your interference."

The smile falls clean off her face. Of course it does. Her husband is standing right in front of her and telling her he has chosen to side with a family of malicious, wilfully neglectful _monsters_ rather than with his own wife.

She's more frustrated than hurt. She long since accepted that Bellamy had a very low opinion of her. But this is maddening, because she knows she did a good job. And she hates that she is stuck in this situation where she will never be good enough, no matter what she does.

She wants to go home.

She takes a deep breath, tries to push that impulse away. She prides herself on not being an impulsive woman, not being hysterical or easily led by emotions – those are insults she has too often heard thrown at women. But even as she tries to think about it more calmly, going home still sounds like the best option. The marriage – and therefore the alliance – will still exist if she leaves, albeit in name only. And really, that's not so different from the current situation. Sure, she'd be giving up those thrice-weekly visits and the chance to bear children.

But as she looks at her husband's angry face, she fears she may have already missed that chance.

There's just one thing stopping her – that hatred of failure. Her life's purpose was to make a success of this marriage.

So much for that.

Her sanity is more important. That's what she decides in the end. She can oversee a successful alliance from Polis, and without staying in this hateful place any longer.

Without staying with this hateful man a moment longer.

She takes a deep breath. "I wish to return home, Your Highness."

He stares at her, visibly stunned. "I beg your pardon?"

"That is my answer to your criticism. I wish to return home. It is plain that I have not understood the Arkadian way of life and that we do not suit as companions, so let us begin living apart a little earlier than we intended. You have my word that the alliance will survive. I shall tell everyone back home that my husband has been most gentlemanly." She says, with just a hint of cynical humour.

"You – you wish to leave?"

"I believe that is what I said. After this Mount Weather fiasco I should think you would be glad to see the back of me."

"Clarke. I – I don't..." He trails off, frowning. Has he ever called her Clarke before? He certainly hasn't said it often, she thinks. She would remember if he had. He has a funny way of shaping the word, as if it's a little too hot on his tongue.

"Will you permit me to go back to Polis?" She presses. Unfortunately she supposes she does probably need his permission. That appears to be how such things work round here.

"Of course. If that's truly what you want." He agrees, nodding earnestly. "When do you plan to leave?"

"As soon as the journey can be arranged." She says levelly. "My secretary is very good. I suppose we will depart in the morning."

"Very good." Bellamy nods a little more, jaw tight.

"Was there something else you needed, your Highness?"

"No. Not at all." Hmm. If she'd realised all it took to shut him up was asking to be allowed back home, she might have tried it months ago, she muses.

"I shall leave you my papers about the Mount Weather business. I suppose that you will wish to review my actions in more detail." She says, by which she means that he will wish to be an interfering nitwit.

"Yes. Thank you." He clears his throat. "Safe journey, Clarke."

He leaves then. She supposes that's all the goodbye she is to expect.

…...

She gets seasick on the ship home. Of course she does. She just hopes it will be worth it, to get home to her friends and family.

…...

It doesn't feel like failure, to arrive back in Polis. That's a relief – she was worried about how people would react. But her mother hugs her warmly and says it's lovely to receive her for a surprise visit, and Clarke does not correct her. She does not explain that she intends to stay forever, if only the political situation will allow her to do so. Kane frowns a little, but Clarke tells him firmly that the alliance is healthy and that she and the Prince parted on good terms. One of those things is a lie, but she finds that it doesn't greatly cloud her conscience. In the overall balance of things, she still feels that she has done more good than evil this year.

She just hopes Bellamy doesn't reverse all her good deeds.

Her friends welcome her, too. Raven is trying to power a carriage using steam. Clarke doesn't much see the point of that, but she thinks that if anyone can manage the feat, it will be Raven. Wells is warm, because that's just the way he is. Monty and Jasper laugh about nothing in particular, and Clarke laughs with them.

She's been home a week when she seeks out Lexa. She's not sure why she bothers – she intends to keep to her marriage vows, even if she knows her husband won't. Perhaps she hopes that she and her old lover could be friends if nothing else.

They can't, it turns out. Lexa is engaged to a young woman called Costia and plans to move to the other side of Polis imminently. And Clarke doesn't blame her, of course, because she owes her nothing. But it's a blow to her morale all the same.

That's the moment Clarke realises life in Polis has moved on without her, really. She didn't see it before. But now that she has heard Lexa's happy news she sees other hints of it, too. Wells is attending the university and has little time for frivolous fun. Jasper and Monty have set up a business venture together and are much occupied with its administration. Raven is being courted by a Mr Wick, and is pretending not to be happy about it.

Clarke is a little less lonely here than she was in Arkadia, at least. And yet she is lonely all the same.

…...

Clarke is only slightly surprised to receive a letter from Bellamy, one month after her return to Polis. She figures it's all part of maintaining the alliance. She's even more convinced of that, once she has read the first line and seen that he addresses it to his _dearest wife_.

It's not until she's sitting in her rooms alone that evening that she bothers reading the whole thing.

_My dearest wife_

_I hope you had a safe journey. I won't ask whether it was pleasant, because I remember well that you are prone to seasickness. I will only say that I hope it was worth it, and that you are happily settled in Polis. I hope your friends and family are pleased to have your company._

_I am not only writing to wish you well. I believe I owe you an apology. I have made a detailed study of the Mount Weather case since your departure and am now ashamed of confronting you so harshly. I had not realised how the Wallace family were turning such a profit, and I am ashamed of my ignorance. You were quite right to insist that their workers should not be treated so poorly. If you should come across such issues in the course of hearing your petitions in the future, I would be only too willing to help you resolve them – although as I write that, it occurs to me that you are a Princess who is not in the habit of asking Princes for help! Most of all, I owe you an apology for the way I spoke to you. Whether you were in the right or wrong, my manner was unkind and uncalled for. I can only plead that I am not used to being married, nor used to working alongside a Princess of such strong opinions. I shall strive to do better!_

_Octavia sends her best wishes. I believe she sees in you a kindred spirit and is missing your company. She had only me and Miller for companionship at the last banquet and was not at all impressed._

_Truly, I hope that returning to Polis has brought you some happiness. I imagine you will return to Arkadia in due course – if only on diplomatic errands – and I can only hope that you will find me more polite when the time comes._

_With every blessing,_

_B_

She doesn't know what to make of that. She knows how to jest with Bellamy and tease him, and was even beginning to work out how to sleep with him. But she has rarely tried to be serious with him, and never in her life did she expect to receive such a detailed and thorough apology from him.

There are aspects of the situation that still rankle, of course. They are still from vastly different backgrounds, and as he says, he is not used to a Princess of strong opinions. She still has her nose scrunched up from reading that part. But she supposes that his circumstances are hardly his fault, if he does his best to learn and grow. Most of all, she gets the feeling she's supposed to reply to this letter as a humble and forgiving wife, and she doesn't much fancy doing that. She does forgive him, of course, because she believes forgiveness to be important and charitable and good. But she's not in a hurry to develop a correspondence with a man who seems to have decided he has an interest in her only on her departure.

She never answers it, in the end. Maybe that's foolish, and could damage the alliance. But she's had enough of dancing to Bellamy's tune.

…...

If she was slightly surprised to receive the first letter, she is positively shocked to receive the second.

She's been in Polis four months, now. One long summer. It has been pleasant in many ways to get away from Arkadia and feel loved once more. But she has to admit, it has not truly brought her happiness. Although she is loved here, she is no longer truly valued or appreciated as she used to be. She is lacking in purpose, as a princess of another land. She learns a little more medicine with Dr Jackson, and consults occasionally with the Arkadian ambassadors. But she achieves little more than that.

In the midst of all this, she certainly didn't expect Bellamy to try writing to her once again.

_My dearest wife_

_The messengers tell me that either my first letter or your response must have been lost at sea, but I find that I do not believe them. I know my own wife better than that, I should think. I suspect you are still angry and did not write back and for that you have my utmost respect._

_I am writing to ask you to come home, Clarke. I know you do not see Arkadia as your home yet but I have hopes that you will change your mind in time. I would have you sail before winter – I hope this letter reaches you in time. I know I have no right to ask that of you, after our marriage got off to such a poor start. But I find that I am I need of your expertise. You have been raised to run a country, and I find myself doing more of the business of running Arkadia as my father grows sicker. I would value your assistance, and I believe you would enjoy working on matters of importance, too. I did not appreciate your skills enough when you were here before, and I would do better this time._

_I am not just in need of your assistance. I am in want of your company, too. I enjoyed our debates and I flattered myself that you did, as well – that maybe this was a chance for you to exercise your sharp mind in a city that expected you to be quiet and dull. I see now that it was patronising of me to take that view. If you come home, I hope we can keep testing each other, but I promise to show you the respect of giving you more meaningful work besides._

_I despised marriage until I met you. You have me convinced that there are more than a few advantages to the state. Please come home and give me the chance to make amends._

_With every blessing,_

_Bellamy_

Clarke does not impulsively grab her traveling cape. She is a sensible young woman, thank you very much. She reads Bellamy's letter through three times over, carefully compiles a mental list of evidence that he intends to respect her and value her. She trusts that he is telling the truth – he was sometimes short-tempered or dour, last winter, but never deceitful. He is essentially a man of good character, even if he does not always show it in the heat of the moment.

She reads that letter one more time. There's the promise of something useful to do, something meaningful to occupy her days. Most of all there's the promise that she will be valued and appreciated and not left to muddle through life on her own.

She dispatches a fast rider to port with one simple aim and one simple message – to board the next ship and tell Prince Bellamy that she will be on the ship following.

…...

She gets seasick on the ship home – the ship to Arkadia, that is. Of course she does. She just hopes it will be worth it, that her second attempt at married life will be more successful than her first.

…...

Her return to Arkadia gets off to a good start. Bellamy is waiting for her at the TonDC inn – wearing not a mask but his own joyful face. She never thought to see him quite so happy about her presence.

"Welcome home." He tells her, beaming. "I didn't expect you so soon."

"You knew how to appeal to me. I can never resist a chance to meddle in the running of a country." She jokes.

His smile dims a little, but it's still there, more or less. "I didn't only want your help. I believe I wrote that -"

"Yes, Bellamy. We're to try again. Very good. I look forward to it. Now will you tell me what I may help with?" She asks with an impish smile.

He laughs. "In a moment, Princess. Take a minute to freshen up. We can talk over dinner."

"Dinner?"

"I'll have some food brought to your chamber. We can sit down and catch up."

She swallows. He's never wanted to eat privately in her chamber with her before. Is this the kind of thing he meant, when he promised to do better? A marriage like the one her parents shared, built on companionship as well as political considerations?

"I'd like that, Bellamy." She admits. It's the first time she's said his name in four months, she realises.

Not that she's been counting, of course.

She heads to her room, sorts herself out quickly. She's not sure why - Bellamy said he would come to her, so rushing can achieve nothing. One of these days she swears she will take the initiative a little more and go to him, but today is not that day. So it is that she simply sits in her chambers and toys listlessly with some needlework.

He doesn't keep her waiting long. He's there mere minutes later, smiling a broad smile. She's finding all this smiling a little odd and she doesn't mind admitting it. Before she left, he only ever smiled at her while they were having one of their debates.

Is this another aspect of doing better?

"Are you quite sure you are feeling well? I don't believe I have ever seen you attempt needlework before." He says by way of beginning.

"As it happens, I've been terribly seasick. But that's not why I'm sewing." She frowns. "I suppose I'm trying to be Arkadian now I find myself here again. Jackson lent me a volume on anatomy but I thought perhaps you would prefer not to find me reading that when you arrived for supper."

Bellamy is not teasing, now. He's frowning instead. "Clarke. Perhaps I wasn't clear. When I wrote to ask you to come back, I was asking you to come back as _yourself_. Read whatever you wish."

She smiles tentatively at him. "I'm trying to do better at married life, too. See this needlework as a compromise."

He snorts. "The fact that you returned at all is more compromise than I expected or deserved. I mean it, Clarke. There is no need to waste your time with embroidery on my account."

She makes a show of putting the sewing aside, laughing nervously. Perhaps this really will work out. Bellamy seems unchanged in essentials - he's still a rather imposing man but prone to teasing her. Yet this teasing is downright _affectionate_ compared to the more straight-faced bickering they used to share.

She is saved from having to think of anything witty to say, in that moment, by the arrival of supper. For a woman who was throwing up at sea just a couple of hours ago, she finds herself rather hungry, now. So it is that she tucks into her food without ceremony.

They eat in silence for a couple of minutes. Clarke supposes that it isn't an unhappy silence, but now she's discovered that Bellamy is capable of being genuinely good humoured, she finds that she wouldn't mind some conversation.

"So? Am I now to know why you require my help?" She asks pertly.

Bellamy sighs. "You were right, that day you said I fancied myself King already. I thought that I knew everything about ruling, but I am only now realising how little of the work of running the country I was truly doing, then. I've taken on a lot more since my father became more unwell. I suppose I am simply asking for us to tackle some of those items of business together. You have a good head for politics and problem solving, and I know that you have complained in the past of having nothing meaningful to do. I hoped that working together might be beneficial for both of us."

Clarke nods. "It's hardly a ground-breaking solution, but it's a good one. And what do you propose when our parents pass away? Are we to revert to our separate kingdoms as we once agreed?"

Bellamy swallows loudly. "I thought not. If that suits you, of course. But - I meant it when I said I had come to appreciate your company. I'm only sorry I didn't make that clear to you until it was too late."

"Hardly too late. I'm here now." She says, more understanding than dismissive. "So how are we to rule two kingdoms separated by an ocean if we stick together?"

"That's an excellent question and one to which I have no answer as yet." He admits. "I am hoping that a solution will present itself - or you will go out and hunt one down." He teases, before turning serious again. "You're right. We must give that some thought. The Roman empire ultimately declined because it was too unwieldy to rule over great distance and I would not want the same fate for Arkadia or Polis."

Clarke tries to take that seriously. Really she does. He's right - they will need to find a way. But she cannot help smirking just a little at his offhand reference to Roman history.

"Do you frequently take the Romans for your example when making policy decisions, Your Highness?" She asks archly.

He laughs. "More often than I ought. I'm sorry - I have something of an interest in ancient history. Those are the books I shall read while you are occupied with your anatomy of an evening."

Her breath catches in her throat. Is he really saying that he wishes to spend time sitting around with her in the evenings? That is something that only real married couples do, in her experience - by which she means, those who married by inclination and not by arrangement. He's a confusing man, she decides. She cannot get a fix on him - devoted ruler and brother, yet initially cold as a husband. But now he wants to eat supper with her and make this marriage work? She cannot make head nor tail of it.

She simply doesn't know him well enough to understand.

That's why she asks the question. If they are to make a real match of this, they will need to ask the difficult questions and get to know each other on a deeper level.

"Bellamy, I must ask. If you now wish for me to return to Arkadia and for us to work together and live as a married couple - why did you not say something before I left?"

"I didn't know what to say." He admits, dropping his spoon to spread his hands in helplessness. "I was shocked. I considered you the first true friend I had made by choice. I naively thought that debating with you and dancing with you on occasion and visiting your bedchamber was enough to show you I was starting to change my mind about marriage. I thought that was enough to show you I value you. I didn't realise that there must be more to true understanding than some jests and bedsport." He swallows loudly. "I thought you considered us friends at the very least, too. I did not realise one foolish argument was all it would take to send you home."

She blinks at him, slowly, while she tries to collect her thoughts. "I didn't consider you _unfriendly_." She says, and it is not quite a lie. "But I must admit that there was not the… warmth between us I would expect in a friendship. Or a successful marriage." She adds as an afterthought.

"I understand that now. All my life I've had only my sister to be close to and yet been surrounded by servants and nobles courting my friendship. I have hardly been presented with good role models in the world of marriage. That's not to try to excuse myself - I can and will do better." He says firmly. "I just - I misunderstood the situation. Miller is the closest thing I have ever had to a true friend and I jest with him rather like I do with you. I thought perhaps that was enough."

That's a sad state of affairs, Clarke thinks. She has often considered herself lonely, since she first left Polis last year. But at least she has known true friendship, and at least she has had a genuinely warm relationship with her parents.

"You are occasionally witty and consistently considerate in the bedchamber." Clarke tells him, smiling gently. "But I would build a friendship - and a marriage - on spending time together outside of bed."

"Yes. I do believe that's why we're eating supper together." He points out, trying gamely for a lighthearted expression.

She lets him have it. He's trying to steer the conversation away from his discomfort with the notion of family, back to safe territory. Perhaps if they keep chipping away at the difficulty, they might have a totally honest and open discussion of the state of their relationship before they are old and grey, she muses.

They talk about the food for a while, and it is pleasant enough. Then Bellamy surprises her by asking after her anatomy reading, so she explains a little to him then returns the favour by asking about his interest in history. It's quite engaging, as conversations go. He's a good listener, it turns out, now that he has stopped trying to bounce the conversation always in the direction of some teasing argument. Even amongst friends in Polis, she has rarely felt that her opinion is being so genuinely valued in a conversation.

It's a promising start to this new chapter of their marriage.

When the meal is concluded, Bellamy asks her without preamble whether she still wishes to try for a child. And she does wish that - she very much wishes that - so she nods and smiles and tells him so, and wonders whether he might kiss her, soon.

Then, of course, a servant pops in to collect their dishes. A perfect moment of imperfect timing. The tension breaks, scattering into smothered giggles as the two of them watch each other across the table.

When the table is cleared, all at once, Bellamy is leaning over to capture her lips with his, cupping a hand about the back of her head and pulling her close. It ought to be a little much, really. A passionate kiss over the table without warning is an interesting way to greet a recently-estranged wife.

But as it happens, Clarke is fully on board with the idea and sets to kissing him back in kind.

She tries to find a somewhat better balance, this time, as things get more heated. Bellamy did say he wanted her to come back as herself. So it is that she is not shy, tonight, about helping him undress, or about letting her hands explore his body, or even about sucking a small bruise into the skin just below his collarbone.

He really likes that, it turns out. He moans so loud when she does it, holds her head firm against his chest as if encouraging her to deepen the mark. She's only too happy to oblige.

That's why she's feeling confident, by the time they're both naked on the bed. That's why she doesn't think twice about settling between his legs and taking his cock into her mouth.

She quickly realises she must have done something wrong, though, when he stiffens and flinches away from her.

"Bellamy?"

"No maid ought to know how to do that." He mutters, frowning deeply.

She snorts. "Perhaps not. But I assure you that I have some small skill in the art."

"You - you are admitting it? That you're not a maid? I had wondered, but I didn't like to insult you by asking."

"It's no insult." She says with an exasperated shrug. "It's perfectly common in Polis to have lovers before marriage. As long as everyone is honest and willing and considerate, where is the harm?"

He frowns still deeper. "So now I know why you were so keen to go back to Polis." He bites out.

She smarts at that. "Bellamy. I have not touched anyone else since we married. I scarcely _looked_ at anyone in Polis. Growing up in a society that is liberal about such things does not mean I am one to disregard my marriage vows." She points out, brow arched, because if he is a typical prince she is quite sure he must have had a mistress - or several - to warm his bed in her absence.

There is a moment of silence. Clarke wonders whether this is how it ends, the second attempt at their marriage tumbling to the ground scarcely before it has begun. There will be no third chance - she is convinced of it.

"I'm sorry." Bellamy mutters at last, somewhat hoarse. "Thank you for coming home. I should not let a little jealousy make me sour."

She brightens at that. Maybe it's pathetic, but jealousy is a step on the way to appreciation, she hopes. Possessiveness is perhaps half way to praise. It may not be a healthy way of showing he thinks she has value, and yet it is perhaps a very small start.

"You're forgiven." She says easily - perhaps too easily, but she really has enjoyed her husband's company tonight, and she's in a mood to make things work. "We come from different worlds. It's never going to be easy." She shrugs. "I have tried to show understanding of that by coming back here and giving Arkadia a second chance. You have tried by apologising and by telling me you value my friendship. We shall make this work."

"You think so?"

"I am _determined_ to make this work." She tells him, allowing her face to stretch into a smile. "I should like to learn how to be friends with you too, husband."

He grins. It's a good look on him, she notes. It makes him look much more carefree. "I'd like that, Clarke." He says simply.

She fails to repress a little shiver at that. It's the way he says her name, she notes once again. He really does have a most particular way of shaping the word.

"Can I get back to what I was doing now?" She asks him pointedly.

"By all means. But be warned - you've raised my expectations now." He teases.

She does her best to live up to that challenge, taking him deep down her throat and hearing him moan in response. She doesn't intend to do this all evening, because it's frankly rather uncomfortable, but it's worth persevering with for a little while yet. Bellamy is making the most appreciative noises, rolling his hips up towards her in eagerness, too. And he's got a hand cupped around the back of her head, tugging lightly at her hair in between strokes.

It's when he reaches out for the hand she's left lying on the bed at his side that things get truly interesting. It's not quite a word of praise, but she thinks it might be the next best thing. He's holding on tight, squeezing her fingers as if he can't imagine letting her go.

As if he wants to be sure she won't run away to sea again any time soon.

He's evidently enjoying it, so she's a little surprised when he nudges her head away. Then it becomes clear that it's because he has something else in mind.

"I can't come in your mouth if you want me to put a baby in you." He points out, breathing heavily.

She nods, shuffles up the bed towards him. They're reasonably good at this next bit, she thinks. This is mostly what they've done before - Bellamy on top, Clarke trying to keep things vaguely interesting rather than simply lying still beneath him. It's not bad, really. They've had a lot of practice.

Today, though, it is better than _not bad_. He seems determined to kiss every inch of her face and neck, for one thing. And he's being more vocal than ever before, his groans giving way to random shouts of pleasure.

She's been waiting so long to hear him offer her a kind word in bed that it takes her by surprise, when it happens.

"You feel so good, Clarke. Ah. So good."

She gasps, tightens her hold on him instinctively. Was that a fluke? Is she hearing things?

"My perfect Princess." He half coos, half groans. Honestly, it's an odd sound, but an incredibly hot one.

"I like it when you talk to me." She dares to whisper. He wants her to be herself, did he not say?

"I like it when you dig your nails in." He pants in response.

Huh. She did not see that one coming. She tightens her hands on his butt a little, allows her nails to dig into the firm flesh.

Sure enough, that's met with a groan and more hurried words. "So good, Clarke. My perfect Princess."

That's twice he's said that. Twice he's said she's _his_. Twice he's called her _perfect_.

She falls apart on a loud sigh, clenching around him. And then he's there, too, sinking his face into the pillow at her side as he lets out a muffled groan.

There is silence when they are both done. Or rather, there are no words, but only the sounds of them both trying to catch their breath.

"I should go to my rooms." Bellamy murmurs. Clarke rather thinks that sounds like a foolish suggestion, in this moment, when he's still lying slumped on top of her and his softening cock is still inside her.

"Or you could stay." She says lightly. "I hear some scandalously happy couples actually share a bed."

"Would that be acceptable? I don't want to overwhelm you with all this. You must want some time alone every so often."

"If I want time alone I shan't be afraid to tell you." She says, matter of fact. "And to be perfectly honest, I've been lonely of late. Some company would be welcome."

She doesn't often speak from the heart like that. But she knows that Bellamy has been struggling to wrap his tongue around the emotional aspects of this marriage, too, so she figures it's only fair to meet him in the middle.

He seems rather happy with her answer. She gathers as much from the way he presses an enthusiastic kiss to her cheek and rolls off her, hugging her close into his side.

….

That first evening sets the tone for the days that follow.

They laugh together over supper. They work together by day, and sleep together by night. It's rather pleasant, all things considered - not just less lonely than the life she was living before, but more fulfilling, and even more friendly.

She would hardly say this is love. It's difficult to fall in love with a man she's fast realising she barely knows. But she thinks they've already made more progress this week than they made in the whole of the first season they were married.

So it is that she tries her best to keep a calm expression when Bellamy says that they are to dine with his father. She doesn't want to ruin this rather more agreeable atmosphere they have managed, of late.

"Your father? I did not know he was well enough to receive visitors."

"He's rallied a little these last few days, so they say. We ought to go, Clarke."

 _Clarke_. That means he's being serious, then. And she can see that they ought to go, really she can, but that doesn't mean she is truly looking forward to it.

"Very well. Let's go and make the best of it. I can bore him with tales of my trip to Polis if nothing else."

Bellamy swallows loudly. "I'd rather you didn't do that, Clarke."

"What do you mean?"

"I never told him you were gone." He mutters, jaw tight. "I told him you were indisposed whenever invitations came while you were away."

Clarke stares at him, stunned, for fully three seconds before she manages to collect herself. "You told him I was indisposed? You hid it from him for _four months_?"

Bellamy simply nods, more tense about the eyes and jaw than ever.

"Why?" She asks simply. It's an absurd strategy, and she cannot make sense of it.

"Because I didn't want to admit that the first person in my life I had allowed myself to form an attachment to had left me." He mutters, eyes on the floor. "I was struggling to admit that to _myself_. There was no way I could tell my father who thinks himself such a great lover of women."

Clarke blinks. She blinks again. She knew Bellamy was shaken by her departure - they have covered that fairly comprehensively - and even that he was upset, that he thought there was more to the relationship between them at that stage than she did. But _this_? This is quite something.

She simply doesn't know how to answer.

"I'm beginning to realise that I was a fool." She says, frowning ruefully. "I wish I had seen then what I have seen in you this week."

He snorts. "I wish I had shown you a more likeable side of myself. It can't be helped now. Come on, Princess. Let us write and accept my _dear_ father's _kind_ invitation."

She laughs. It's a slightly hollow laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. "Of course. I look forward to it." She swallows, her laughter dying away as a new thought strikes her. "Do you think he will believe _indisposed_ meant with child? Am I to find his displeasure directed at me if I appear at his table visibly _not_ expecting?"

Bellamy's jaw grows tight once more. "I won't let him hurt you. I won't let him _say_ anything hurtful to you, either. If he says one word about it we're leaving."

Clarke nods. He's an odd man, her husband. Fiercely protective, but only of the very few people he allows himself to grow close to. Deeply caring, but not always confident in showing it.

Ah well. At least she has the rest of her life to make sense of him.

….

Dinner with His Majesty is uneventful. The food is too rich, and Clarke finds herself noticing all at once that she's been eating meals more to her taste with Bellamy in their chambers. That's interesting. Another little gesture of care on his part she ought to have noticed sooner, perhaps.

She can well understand why His Majesty is so unwell if this is his regular diet. She feels more nauseous after all that rich meat and pastry than she ever felt at sea. The King looks rather green about the gills, she observes. He's largely silent and rather grumpy. His wife and children carry the bulk of the conversation.

Clarke finds herself wondering how she could ever have suspected Bellamy of having anything in common with this man beyond a surname and that dark, curling hair.

….

It is late autumn, with winter just starting to bite, when Bellamy makes the suggestion. It is also well past bedtime, as it happens. The two of them are lying sprawled together on Clarke's mattress and talking about whatever crosses their minds.

But she knows that Bellamy has something most particular to say when his tone changes suddenly.

"I was wondering how you feel about spending time in the country. From what you have said of Polis you like to have more freedom and a less formal atmosphere?"

"I do." She agrees, because she senses that this is not an idle question.

"Would you like to spend some time at Lightbourne Place? It's a property just outside of Arkadia City. Lord Santiago's father-in-law gave it to my father in an attempt to win his favour. It's a fine house and little used. There are big gardens, too."

"Are you trying to send me away, Your Highness?" She couches the question in a teasing tone because she's not sure she can bear to hear the answer. She still has a tendency to presume the worst when Bellamy gets serious. She still remembers, horrified, how confident she was of earning Bellamy's praise before he criticised her handling of the Mount Weather mill on that awful day.

"I'm trying to take you on holiday, Princess." He says easily. "We could spend some time there together away from my father and all these people. Just take a small household and perhaps my sister. I know winter is not the fashionable time for a countryside visit but - I wondered whether it might do us both good. We'd have to attend to business for a good deal of the time, still. But there might be some leisure to ride or walk out, too."

"That sounds perfect." She says, because it does.

….

It is not quite perfect, of course. The everyday life of two lonely people who are trying to make the most of one another's company whilst ruling a country is not exactly the stuff of epic romance. Clarke isn't so disappointed about that, though. She always knew she was being raised for an arranged marriage, so she never let herself get too excited about the ballads the troubadours would sing. And as arranged marriages go, she thinks this one is turning out rather comfortably.

They have a pleasant time in the country. Clarke does not regret spending her morning in paperwork and policy. But she lives for the afternoons when she and Bellamy walk or ride around the grounds.

"The weather is better in Polis." Clarke comments, today, as she walks along an avenue of trees on Bellamy's arm.

He laughs. "No it is not. Try again. Your arguments used to be stronger than this, if memory serves."

"That's because I liked you less. I wanted to best you. Now I like you, you will see that I argue kindly." She offers, giggling. "Either way, the weather here is truly terrible. I believe it will rain."

"Then we shall get wet." He offers, totally unconcerned.

She grins, hugs his arm a little tighter. "Enough about the weather. Tell me what that representative from the guild of tailors wanted this morning?"

"Oh, you know. The usual. More money for less work. And to negotiate with me as a man and not my wife." Bellamy says, frowning lightly.

"Yes, yes. Anything of substance?"

"They want to take on more apprentices. I thought that was wise. And possibly there is some merit to their claims that their work is being undervalued. I might have given them more consideration if he were less rude."

"We should make a visit to the tailors' district in Arkadia City to see for ourselves. That's likely to give us more useful information."

"You're very wise, wife. I chose well." He teases.

She snorts. "You didn't choose me at all."

He stops dead on the path, suddenly serious, and fixes her with a hard stare. "But if I could choose, now, I'd choose you. I need you to know that."

"I'd choose you, too." She says, and it is the honest truth.

She might not love him, not yet. Not quite. But she would choose him. She would choose a good man with a good heart, even if that innate goodness is sometimes obscured by the harshness of the world. She would choose a partner who makes her laugh and respects her and appreciates her, and Bellamy does all that and more.

At that very moment the rain starts to pour, heavy and cold as the rain in Arkadia so often seems to be. But Clarke finds that she doesn't greatly mind it, today. As Bellamy said - if it rains, they will get wet. She has faced greater challenges before now.

So it is that she doesn't run off towards the house. She stays there, rooted to the spot where she stopped to hear Bellamy tell her that he would choose her. She thinks that it is a spot that needs marking, somehow. A moment that needs celebrating.

That's why she reaches up to kiss him. That's why she tangles her hand in his hair and stretches onto her toes and presses her lips to his. They've kissed a lot since their marriage. But rarely has Clarke initiated a kiss, and never have they kissed outside the bedroom.

That's why she wants to kiss him, here and now, to show him that their second attempt is going rather well, in her not-so-humble opinion.

He kisses her back firmly, urgently. But he doesn't kiss her back for long. Within a few seconds he is pulling away to hug her tight, instead, his arms wrapped around her shoulders and back as if to shield her from the rain as far as possible.

"Thank you." He mutters. "Thank you for walking into my life."

"Thank you for showing me I don't have to do everything alone." She says straight back to him.

They make a rather strong team, it turns out. Prince and Princess, together.

….

They have to head back to court for the New Year. Clarke supposes that's hardly surprising. If nothing else, there is the small mercy that the King continues to be unwell and that they are therefore unlikely to spend much time with him. She feels rather cruel, to be glad of his illness, but she cannot stir herself to think otherwise. She cannot help but hate him for what he has done to Bellamy - her husband has the biggest heart of anyone she has known, she is coming to understand, but has adopted the habit of hiding it from the world thanks to his father's cruelty and caprice. So she does not wish the King death, because she would not wish that on anyone. But she is glad that his influence at court is reduced and she is not to spend much time in his company.

There is more cheerful company to be had instead. Octavia seems to have decided Clarke is the best thing ever to happen to the Arkadian court, and often says how glad she is to see her brother happy. That's rather humbling, Clarke finds. Mr Miller continues to be a good-humoured man, and Lord Santiago is kind and a pleasing dance partner.

Clarke even gets round to asking Bellamy whether she might be introduced to some of the rest of his friends, a couple of weeks in. She thinks she has it figured out now - there's a reason he initially introduced her to partners who were already married or else only interested in men. He was feeling jealous and possessive even then, she understands. Attached to her already, but not sure how to express that attachment. So it is that she reminds him he's a wonderful husband but also asks if she might be allowed to make new friends.

He introduces her to most of the rest of the court, watches her dance a set each with half a dozen gentlemen, and then takes her home to make love slowly while he holds her tight and sighs her name.

She counts that a most successful evening.

….

By the time they have been back at court a month, Clarke is certain she is pregnant. She didn't want to say anything until she knew for sure, but she knows that she shouldn't hide it from Bellamy any longer.

He's not surprised when she tells him.

"I wondered." He says shortly. "It's been a while since you've had your courses."

She nods. "Yes. I think it is fairly certain. I have the other signs I would expect, too."

"And is there anything you need? Does your medical training leave you with any other requests or guidance?" He asks, flatteringly earnest.

"No. Not at present. With your leave I shall take responsibility for interviewing suitable midwives and nurses myself."

"Of course. You know best in this case." He says easily.

Silence falls. Clarke's not sure why, honestly. She has been married to this man for real for the better part of four months, now. That's almost as long as she was gone, but it's time that has been much better spent. She likes to think that she has become rather expert in his moods and she knows that, by and large, he chooses silence when he is feeling strongly but does not know what to say.

"What is it?" She prompts him gently.

"I suppose we do not need to sleep together any more." He says carefully.

She manages to repress the urge to roll her eyes. He's Bellamy - this is simply how he is. He's the warmest person she knows, yet grew up thinking he had to be cold to survive the world. He wears his heart on his sleeve, yet doesn't feel able to talk about his feelings. He's an exasperating paradox of a man, but she cares for him deeply all the same.

"We do not _need_ to. But perhaps we might _like_ to. I know you may well take a mistress while your wife is pregnant but I do not have that option and I should hate to be celibate for the next seven months."

"I wouldn't take a mistress." He bites out. "I haven't taken one since we married."

She gapes at him. "Not - not even while I was in Polis?"

"No. I became very well acquainted with my own right hand." He says, tone a little short, but with a quirk to his brow that indicates he is at least trying to tease, she hopes.

She smiles at him softly. Now she's got to know him, it is obvious that he cares about her. She gets it now - he's a man who shows his love through actions rather than words. Staying alone for four months rather than taking anyone else to his bed. Pretending to his father that she was sick because he was so hurt that she left. Writing to beg her to come home, then making her happiness his priority since the moment she set foot once again on Arkadia soil.

And she has been trying to do something similar. She has been seeking out his company in the evenings, holding him tight just the way she knows he likes in bed, kissing him in the pouring rain.

But perhaps it is time for both of them to learn to _talk_ about how they are feeling more often, instead of just hoping it is obvious.

"Shall we stop arguing about nothing and agree that you're staying in my bed?" She asks mildly.

"Arguing about nothing with you is my favourite pastime." He bounces back, grinning slightly.

"I prefer needlework." She teases. "No, really, Bellamy. I - I don't want to be apart from you. Coming home when I received your letter is the best choice I have ever made."

He smiles softly at her, tears in his eyes.

"What? What is it?" She asks, a little alarmed.

"That's the first time you've called Arkadia home. I always hoped you would settle in here."

She contemplates that for a moment. "I don't think I'm calling _Arkadia_ home. I think I am saying that _you_ are my home. I set out across the sea to an arranged marriage and somehow found a best friend and partner along the way."

He hugs her tight for that. He doesn't say anything, but just holds her close for several long moments.

That's OK. She has got quite good at hearing what he's not saying, these last few months.

She doesn't fidget, as they stand there. She feels no great need to. She has Bellamy's firm chest against her cheek, her nose just nuzzling slightly at the soft skin at the base of his neck. She can feel his back firm beneath her fingertips and smell his familiar scent. There are worse places to spend five minutes, really.

"Thank you, Clarke. I believe a best friend one wishes to share a bed with is the perfect wife." He tells her, solemn and serious.

"You know I like it when you tell me I'm perfect." She tells him brightly.

He laughs a little, squeezes her tight and then releases her. "I know. I should say it more often."

"Don't. It might go to my head."

"I think not. I've never met anyone as self-critical as you are, Princess."

"I suppose that's a natural consequence of my calling in life. There's a lot of pressure on my shoulders."

"Not just your shoulders." Bellamy chastises her softly. " _Our_ shoulders."

She hums, steps forward so they're half-hugging again. Our shoulders. She likes the sound of that.

"How do you feel about the baby?" She asks him, running her fingers lightly across his chest. He's wearing a shirt, still, but it is better than not touching him at all.

She hears him swallow. "I'm not sure. I always thought I would be worried - and I am worried. But more than anything I'm _thrilled_ , Clarke. I can't wait to start a family with you." Another loud gulp. "And that makes me worried in turn. Do you think that's how _he_ began?"

"No. Not at all. You're not excited because you want to prove your potency or secure the succession. You're excited because you want a family. It's different, Bellamy. You are not your father. His errors are not yours to inherit."

"And your kingdom is not yours to run single-handed." He tells her firmly.

They stand there and hug a bit longer. It's all really a little foolish, Clarke thinks. She and Bellamy have become increasingly tactile in recent months but they are not typically in the habit of spending several minutes of the day just hugging.

She cannot quite pinpoint when the moment shifts. Somehow hugging becomes a little more, with Bellamy sprinkling kisses over the crown of her head. And then she responds in kind, fisting her hands more tightly in the fabric of his shirt, placing soft kisses where his neck meets his shoulder.

"Shall we take this to the bed, wife?" He murmurs at length.

"We could stay right here." She counters. There's a perfectly good chair right behind him, and she nods at it to make her point.

He likes that idea. She can tell from the light in his eyes and the way he holds her, somehow, even tighter.

They undress each other, as has become their habit, but a little more slowly than usual, stopping for kisses along the way, touching each other softly. And then Clarke is nudging Bellamy towards that chair, and he seems only too happy to sit down and tug her gently towards his lap. She gets herself comfortable, sinks down onto the length of his cock.

They've not tried this position before, and there's an intimacy to it she really likes. Before marriage, she seems to remember that she thought sex in a bed was the epitome of intimacy and that hurried hookups on chairs or against walls were not cut of the same cloth. But there is nothing hurried about this at all - rather, they are taking their time, and holding each other close, and the ability to wrap their arms entirely around one another adds a whole new level of closeness and comfort.

In short, it is like a hug. And they are good at hugs.

She is trying to take her time, but it's not long before she feels the need to grow a little more urgent. This hits slightly differently from the positions they have tried in the bed, and she finds that there is more delicious pressure as she grinds down on his lap.

Then, of course, Bellamy starts talking to her. He knows she likes a bit of explicit communication, these days.

"You feel so good, Princess, riding my cock." He tells her on a strangled chuckle.

"Like holding you tight." She mutters in turn.

"I know. I love it when you hold me, too."

She gets there first, today. She comes hard, sinking right down into his lap to enjoy every last ripple of pleasure.

And then there is a beat of silence.

"You want to take this to the bed?" She murmurs.

"No. I like it like this. But it might take a while." He says, apologetic.

That's fine with her. Whether she comes again or whether she doesn't, she can't really imagine anything more fun than sitting in his lap and holding him tight and listening to him moan in pleasure.

It does take him a few minutes, but not all the time in the world. She keeps riding his cock, not at all put off by the fact that she is already satisfied. This still has plenty of lazy intimacy to keep her interest and soothe that part of her that always wants a good long hug after sex. And when he does come, he does not come quietly. He tightens his hold around her and groans her name loud enough that she thinks half the palace has probably heard them.

"I know we don't _need_ to sleep together any more. But you have to admit it would be a shame to miss out on that." He says, a little too lightly, when they have finished.

"Yes. Most definitely. Shall we move to the bed?"

"You want another round already?" He teases.

"No. I want to fall asleep in my husband's arms."

He sighs - a happy sigh, she believes - and presses a kiss to her forehead. "Soon. But I'd like to stay here and hold you like this a few minutes more first."

She's not arguing. She can't imagine anything more lovely, in fact.

….

The first months of Clarke's pregnancy are easy, more or less. She is occasionally nauseous, but it's nothing compared to the seasickness she faced on the voyage here.

She likes reminding Bellamy of that. She likes to tease him that she has been through worse discomfort for the sake of their family happiness, before now. She does that not to torment him, but because she thinks it is worth getting things in proportion.

She is really rather happy, at the moment, and will gladly accept nausea as the trade off.

….

Spring is just starting to show its face when Bellamy surprises Clarke with a most thoughtful suggestion.

"I wonder whether my sister would like to spend this summer in Polis." He says carefully. "I thought I would ask you before I ask her. What do you think of the scheme?"

"I think it perfect. She will enjoy the change of scene and the chance to live in a society where her fire will be appreciated rather than smothered."

"Exactly. I am hoping that she will be less frustrated there. But I think also that she would benefit from some maturity and good sense to temper that fire. Perhaps broadening her horizons and learning more of the world will help with that."

"Perhaps that might solve our future problem of how to rule both nations at once." Clarke suggests, thoughtful. "I don't mean to pile pressure onto her shoulders, of course. But introducing your sister more to the ways of the world is a good idea."

"You approve, then?"

"Wholeheartedly. With your blessing I would write to Raven. I think she would be an ideal companion to show her around Polis."

"Then we are agreed. I will ask Octavia at dinner tomorrow. But we both know she will say yes."

"Indeed. Can I ask a small favour, husband?"

He frowns. "You are going to ask anyway."

She laughs lightly. "True. Could we send Miss Maya Vie with her? As one of her ladies, perhaps?"

"Miss Maya Via? The friend you made with the Mount Weather mill case?"

"Yes. I think she, too, would be a valuable support to us if offered the opportunity. She is a bright woman and keen to do the best for people."

Bellamy nods at once. "If you believe so, then I trust your judgement. While we are sending all these visitors and letters to Polis, is there anyone you would have to visit for your pregnancy and lying-in?"

Clarke stares at him, stunned. She is used to kindness from him, now, but inviting a friend over vast distance just to support her through her pregnancy sounds like a rather large gesture.

"You mean that?"

He simply nods.

"I would have Wells here, but I have seen you jealous and it does not suit you." She says pointedly. "Are you sure you would handle his presence well?"

To her surprise, Bellamy answers with a laugh. "Yes. I am the one starting a family with you, Clarke. I am no longer in a position to feel threatened by any friend or lover from your youth, I believe. And if I am wrong, I shall simply behave better and not make him or you uncomfortable. So let me invite Lord Jaha."

"Thank you, husband." She's started calling him husband a lot, recently. She supposes he was right, back at the beginning - any married couple must have their affectionate nicknames.

Ah well. He is bound to best her in some arguments, just once in a while.

….

When Clarke wakes in the middle of the night with sharp pain low in her belly, she tries not to panic. Such complications are common in pregnancy, and losing a baby is a frequent occurrence. If something goes wrong, she will just have to deal with it.

Sorry - _they_ will have to deal with it. She and Bellamy, together.

That's why she tries to keep her voice soft as she shakes him awake.

"Bellamy. Bellamy, wake up."

"Clarke? What is it? What's wrong?" He blinks blearily up at her.

"Some - some pain in my stomach. I think you should get a midwife."

He's out of bed at once, throwing clothes on, running around the place like a madman.

"Bellamy, please. Slow down. From what I know of medicine, this could be a serious problem or could be nothing at all. But either way, I want my husband whole and healthy."

He nods. "Yes. Of course."

And then he completely ignores her wishes, sprinting straight out the room.

The next couple of hours are a blur. Servants and doctors come and go. Clarke is exhausted, still dazed from waking up in the middle of the night, and she's trying very hard not to panic. She thinks the pain is a little less severe, now. And there has been no bleeding - that has to be a good sign.

Time passes. Perhaps the pain eases. Still no bleeding. Still a bevy of surgeons and midwives crowding around the bed.

It's a little before dawn when the situation resolves itself. Clarke is embarrassed, really. But she feels a sudden urge to rush to the latrine and empty her bowels. And once she's done, she finds that there is very little pain lingering.

How humiliating. She has just called half the palace staff and many medical minds here for nothing more than a digestive complaint. Jackson would be ashamed of her.

The surgeons and midwives don't seem to mind. They say that it is best to be cautious in pregnancy, that she should still monitor the pain closely, to call them back if there is any other trouble. One kindly young woman even pats Clarke on the arm and points out that it is her first time being pregnant, and therefore only natural that she should find it strange and new and frightening.

That's an interesting thought. She doesn't consider herself a woman easily frightened, but she must admit that motherhood is bringing with it a different class of nerves.

She crawls back under the bedclothes once the room is empty. She rather wishes she could disappear. Bellamy must be so frustrated at the waste of his time.

She is surprised, then, when he slips into the bed at her side and pulls her gently towards him for a hug.

"Thank goodness you are well." He says fervently. "Or I should say well enough. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine." She says, shame making her short. "I only have the runs. Silly of me to make such a fuss."

"Not silly at all." He corrects her softly. "Please, always make a fuss. Better to be cautious."

"All the same, I'm sorry for giving you a fright." She murmurs.

He presses a kiss to her hair. "Don't apologise. I am beginning to understand it now, I believe. This is what marriage is - caring about you deeply and having my life revolve around the health and happiness of you and our child. I used to worry about turning into my father but I see now that it is not possible. He never worried about anyone's happiness, and only worried about the health of his heirs."

She rolls to face him. "I love you." She says simply. It's something she hasn't told him yet, and she believes it is high time to do so.

He gasps. "I love you too. So much. It's a little frightening, sometimes." He says with a breathy laugh.

"How so?"

"I am becoming rather preoccupied with the fear of losing you in childbed. I saw that happen to two of my stepmothers."

That's a serious point, and so Clarke gives serious consideration to her response. She wants to be honest yet reassuring, and that's a difficult balance to strike.

"I am young and healthy and have some knowledge of medicine - although as we have just seen, I am far from infallible. We have engaged the best surgeons and midwives to be found. I do not promise that nothing will happen to me. We have no way of knowing the future. But I have as good a chance of living a long and happy life as it is possible to have." She assures him, smiling a little tearfully. "I suppose I believe we should concentrate on living a good life and loving each other here and now. We cannot shape the future. But we can do our best with today."

She's crying in earnest by the time she finishes, the drama of the night catching up with her. Bellamy is sobbing softly, too, cradling her close to his chest. But it is good to cry together, in this moment. It is beautiful to have someone in her life who knows her thoughts so thoroughly and shares all of her concerns.

"And that is why I am spending this morning in bed with you." Bellamy concludes, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Get some sleep, Princess."

"You too, husband." She snuggles a little deeper into his embrace. "You know, I never planned to fall in love with you." She offers conversationally.

"Yes. I believe you made that quite clear." He jests tiredly.

"It is supposed to be a compliment." She tells him smartly. "I am telling you that you are a good man - so good that you convinced me to love you quite against my better judgement."

" _Convinced you_? I won't have that. You make it sound like this was one of your rational decisions when we both know I simply stole your heart." He teases.

He may be teasing, but actually, she thinks he has hit upon the absolute truth. "You're right." She says simply.

He makes a humming noise to acknowledge that, but Clarke barely hears him. She is already falling asleep.

….

The stomach upset lasts three days. Clarke spends some time on the latrine, and feels nauseous, and deeply lethargic.

And yet as Bellamy spends every moment in her bedchamber, cheering her and hugging her and even bringing her some distracting light tasks to do, she thinks that she has never been happier.

….

Clarke is overjoyed to see Wells. She's also a little surprised, she doesn't mind admitting it. He is here two months before her due date, and she knows how important his studies are to him.

Apparently his best friend is even more important.

"Clarke! Are you well?" He asks, rushing forward to give her a hug.

"As well as anyone could be. My feet have been hurting for weeks." She complains cheerfully.

"That's only because you won't let me carry you everywhere." Bellamy points out, stepping up to reach out a hand towards Wells. "You must be Lord Jaha. I've heard a lot about you."

They shake hands. "I believe you can call me Wells. You are essentially my brother-in-law, are you not?"

Bellamy laughs. "In that case, you may call me Bellamy. Did you have a pleasant journey?"

"Pleasant enough." Wells says lightly. "But I am not here to talk about the sailing. Clarke - tell more more about this little one. Have you chosen names? Do you believe you carry a boy or a girl?"

"We do not mind who this baby is. We just pray that they are born safely." Bellamy says firmly.

"We have thought about names a little but will leave the final decision until the baby is born." Clarke explains.

"Very good. Your mother sent me with a list of questions, but I shall not ask them all." Wells says, laughing.

It is at that point that Bellamy kisses Clarke on the cheek, as if taking his leave. She has to admit, she is a little confused.

"Husband?"

"I believe I shall go out riding. You two have a good deal of news to share and you hardly need me getting in your way. We'll have plenty of time to further our acquaintance later, Wells."

Clarke blinks, stunned. What happened to the jealous man she first married? Is he so much more confident and secure, now, that he will cheerfully leave her in the sole company of an old friend he has seemed envious of, in the past?

"Thank you, Bellamy." She says softly. "I wish you fine weather. Don't stay out too long."

"Please, Princess. You know I can never stay away from you for long." He teases sweetly.

….

To say Clarke does not enjoy giving birth would be an understatement. It's a painful and messy experience, and somewhat frightening, too. But through it all there is Bellamy holding her hand, so that's something. Something to hold onto and keep her grounded and mostly sane.

The baby is a healthy boy, and they call him Augustus. Clarke rather suspects that she will shorten that to Gus more often than not. It's a name to honour Bellamy's interest in ancient history, but mostly it is a name chosen because it is _new_. It is not a name that runs in Bellamy's dysfunctional family, nor a name from one of Clarke's friends or relatives. It is a new beginning for a new age of the Arkadian monarchy.

Clarke is told by the midwives and surgeons that she is healthy, too. She doesn't _feel_ healthy. She feels exhausted and deeply sore. But she has a baby in her arms and Bellamy hugging her around the shoulders and Wells perched at the end of the bed, so she supposes she has come out of this ordeal rather successfully.

"You'll be godfather, Wells?" Bellamy asks, almost before Clarke has managed to start breathing normally once again.

"You're sure?"

"Yes. You and Octavia. I asked her before she sailed."

"I would be honoured."

Gus is going to be a very well-loved boy, Clarke realises. He is going to have two doting parents, two warm godparents, and a whole host of his parents' friends to act as honorary aunts and uncles. She is determined that he will grow up not just feeling love but showing it and speaking it. She will raise him in the knowledge that having a big heart is nothing to be ashamed of.

And she knows that his father will teach him that same message twice over.

….

When she feels more awake, Clarke sends news of the birth to every part of Arkadia and Polis. Bellamy insists that she should be the one to do it - she is the one who gave birth to the baby, and so she should be the proud mother sharing the news. It's a gesture on his part that warms her heart more than it probably should.

To be honest, she's so thoroughly in love with him, these days, that almost everything he does has the power to warm her heart.

With the letters for Polis, she includes a short note to Lord Kane. Not to tell him about the baby - she knows her mother will share that news with him. But to suggest to him with no subtlety at all that, if he loves Queen Abby, he might consider proposing. Stranger things have happened before now than a long-widowed queen marrying her most trusted advisor.

And besides which, Clarke has become rather evangelical about the bliss of a loving marriage, this last year.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
